Out of many spent years my memory recalls to mind one, really far-off winter morning, when, having almost wrenched off the door, Kaysar broke into our home.
- Did you hear that? - he screamed angrily to my father instead of greetings.- It’s my future father-in low. God, make this damn man never saddle the horse till the end of his days. This malicious Bekbergen! You know, what has he decided?! He sent a courier to me and demands Kuren-tjobel1!
Kaysar’s indignation took his breath. And my father got worried in real earnest.
- Yeaa. Did he loco? How could he take such idea into head?
Kaysar balefully gave the wave of the hand as if he flicked a horse with the whip:
- He is so crafty. Crafty and greedy without any poison. Recently mullah2 came to their house and circumcised the five-year-old son of Bekbergen. Then, as is right and proper, mullah asked the little bad boy: “What horse do you want? Just say.” And he, without considering, named my Kuren-tjobel. Bekbergen raised his hands to the sky and said: It’s Allah itself dilplays his will through the boy’s lips. Then so be it. Let Kaysar bring the Kuren-tjobel and I will forgive the rest of the bride-price.” Now you see how kind is my future father-in-law, my debt was just two cows with calf.
Kaysar couldn’t find any other words except those, which helped him to describe all Bekbergen’s predecessors and descendants, especially those future descendants of the five-year-old.
For us, boys, it wasn’t a big news that Kaysar had a bride in the neighbor aul3. What of it? There are enough girls… But none is worse such a bid sacrifice as Kuren-tjobel.
- What did you answer to the father’s-in-law courier?- my father asked.
- Nonsense, nonsense, nonsense! It was my only answer.
Kaysar was silent for a while and then started speaking again:
- Me? Give him the only horse I have? And then what? I will go for a bride by feet? And will take her by the hand to my house? No, I won’t give him a horse! He shouldn’t instigate his bad boy what he must answer. It is exactly what I said to the courier.
- Yeah… What a mess!- my father sighed.- And what comes next?
- I know- what!- Kaysar flushed again.- She will be mine! Tomorrow night! This will come next!
My father started a long tutorial speech: if Kaysar really steals the bride, even if she is agree, it will be a conflict between auls that are living peacefully for a long time. But the guy stayed firm.
- If my tribesmen do not value honor and are afraid of conflict, they can hide in their houses like rats. I will go to the Russian village then. Let Bekbergen look for me and his daughter.
It became silent. My father didn’t know what to do and what else he could say. And if he said something- would Kaysar really listen to him? Kaysar is beloved by all age mates and aqsaqal4. He was said to be one of a number of those , who kept the real dzhigit5. How could you talk him out of doing this?
My father doubted, but I was delighted at his impudence and firmness. I wanted to be like Kaysar: I wished my eyes were such steady and dark and I wished them shine with the same furious red sparkles.
Kaysar insisted:
- I feel that I just waste my time at your house. Will you send one of your sons with me? At least one!
My father shook his heads doubtfully:
- Whom? You know that my eldest is working at Imish, it’s too far away from here, This one? - He looked at me careless. - You can see by yourlesf, he is too young and useless.
- It’s ok!- Kaysar laughed.- Your greenhorn can be also useful. The most important thing is that your son will be with me, so that you are responsible for everything. If they take after us, they will come to your house.
My heart missed a beat. If I join the touchy man business it means that I have the same dzhigit spirit, which I was told about by aqsaqals! The fact that my father could say “No” frightened me, but he didn’t say that. So I hitched up my trousers and sniffled as if they were not talking about me.
- I knew you wouldn’t repel.- said Kaysar and flipped the top of my head as a sign of approval.
Our small door let out Kaysar and let in clouds of frosty air. My father waited the door to get closed and turned to me:
- Listen… If the start fighting, do not get in their way.
But I wasn’t listening any more, I was only thinking about the fact that I was considered to be fit for helping.
The real dzhigit must have the real horse. Dark red racer with the white star on the forehead is famous in the district. It was enough to say “Aul of Kuren-tjobel” and everyone could enderstand where was it. Aul women would never cross the street, always make a way as the old tradition holds. And the horse came by, as the real sultan, without noticing anyone.
The real dzhigit must have the real dog. Kaysar had Kokdaul. It had hard, dark wool from the back of the neck along the chine; it is unmistakable sigh that Kokdaul is not a simple dog. During hot summer days Kokdaul pulled through heat in the yurt6, he was lying on the honorable place and didn’t let anyone to take it.
In winter Kokdaul never whimpered behind the door, asking to let him in. There was a kennel, made of wickers, in the corner of covered yard. It was a place where the dog waited frost to go away. And early in the morning it matched up to its name” grey whirlwind”. It was never afraid to go far in the steppe, in the birchwood. And if there was wolf traces on the snow or it smelled out the scent of the animal, he run home and jumped around the Kaysar , barking.
They all, Kaysar, Kokdaul and Kuren-tjobel, understood each other greatly. Kaysar saddled the horse and then in the aul sounded patter of hoofs and everyone knew: in a while Kaysar would be back, would pass houses by foot with the wolf tied up to the saddle.
Except the famous horse and wolf-dog Kaysar also had varied obedient cow, sheep and goats, but these peaceful cattle were in care of his old mother, Baden-apaj.
She was a woman of decisive judgments.
-Yeee- she said in a loud voice without taking into account whether the partner is agree or not.- What wolf will escape from Kokdaul and Kuren-tjobel? There is no such a wolf and there won’t be any. And the fox for our dog is just a mouse.
Another time she took aback, as if she argued with somebody:
- If you want to have a cup of tea, you must take only Indian tea! If somebody drinks other tea- he drinks slips.
Adults maybe were a little bit afraid of her, but aul boys appreciated her kindness more than somebody else.
- Kaysarjan- she spoke to his son- Food is running off, I have nothing to treat children with. When you are in the city. Please buy a bag of campit-sampit7. Don’t forget.
Baden-apaj loved us, we knew that and were not afraid of her loud voice. Everyone took pains to help her: somebody chopped wood in the winter, somebody brought some ice from the river, in summer- tended lambs and goats. There was only Kaysar at their house and no grandchildren.
But lambs and goats is nothing! How many fights and bruises took place while arguing whose turn it was to bath in the lake Kuren-tjobel!
I went to Kaysar, as it was arranged, next night. His friend were already there, they drank tea and sponged their bodies.
My coming brought a lot of fun. They kept asking me, I really decided to join them and what would I do if I got lost. In that case they would have to leave the bride and go looking for me. They found out what horse I would saddle, maybe skewbald round-bellied mare? And having cleared up that it was true, they took up cracking jokes: bust! It had the hiccoughs and could be heard mile away, it would wake up the aul and give a tip-off, if there would be a rush!
In a heated room I chilled while thinking that Kaysar would not take me with, if he heard what they said. God knows for how long would they cackled me, if Baden-apaj didn’t interfere.
- Why did you attack the boy? He will go! He will hold Kaysar’s horse! It is something at least! And it is also good for fortune, when in such case participates a sinless boy. You will go, my colt- she turned to me.- Sit down, drink tea.
We were drinking tea for a long time. It got dark and then, we, thirteen dzhigits , decided that it was high time to hit the road. At parting Baden-apaj gave me two handfuls of candies and two hard white pellets- qurut8.
- If you feel sleepy- just bite qurut, it is sour. If you get hungry, just take campit.
It was snowing hard in the night. It became warmer. Wind only started blowing. It was circling as if choosing the aul to attack. Dzhigits strung out in a time, their horses were trotting. My mare, hiccoughing, was tailing along. I didn’t want to fall behind. It was good that there was only six miles ahead.
When I reached first houses of aul my companions had already got off from the horses. Everything was discussed in advance that is why we were standing behind the trees just for a while. Dzhigits split apart to attack Bekbergen’s house from the different sides. A part of them would wait outside, a part break into the house ant=d tide up the bride’s parents, and the last part would take the bride. At the sigh one dzhigit and I had to hop to them right away with the horses.
Wind blew harder. Our snowstorm has such a character: it won’t stop until the houses will be covered so that smoke seems to belch just from snow. Now wind was attacking houses fiercely, and a minute later it kept quiet to take a next wipe. But such impenetrable snow darkness played in our hands. There was dark in the windows. Dogs were silent. They hid, saving themselves from the storm. Because in the morning it would get mad. But by the morning we would be at home with our take!
I was thinking so, but our dzhigits didn’t show a sigh for a long time, as they had left. My skewbald, in order to while away the time, started raking snow, seeking for last-year grass. I got out bar bit immediately. What Kazakh will not feed his horse as chance offers! It was digging thoroughly with its hoof, and saddle sank down from such moves. It was ok. It had to gain strength, maybe she would not fall behind on the way home. Because it might well be a rush.
I didn’t see Kaysar’s sigh, but I heard screaming cry through the howl of the wind. I understood that it wasn’t the scream of the girl, it was a scream of the old woman:
- Ooohh-bbaj!..Rascals! Shameless rascals!
Then I caught Kaysar’s voice:
- Leave her alone! It is not she!
Then a lot of people were screaming:
- Enemy!!
- Shoot!
The gun banged, three or four times. Somebody from our band said:
- Bring the horses! What are you waiting for?
I was taken aback and rolled off from the saddle not so quick, but still rather fast took the bar bit and then I had to move the saddle and pull the horse sling. My companion raced horses rather fast and screamed at me:
- Faster, faster, you’re fool!
Having heard vague patter of hoofs I understood that all ours scattered. I had to get out that place too. But where should I go? I pulled bar bits first to the right then to the left. And when my mare was digging the snow I lost the direction and couldn’t understand which way was my home.
I tried to follow the voices, but the wind drowned the sounds. My skewbald flunked into the snow and I stroke off. And soon I realized that I had lost my way. Nobody was calling me and my own voice could be heard not only by companions but also by enemies.
I had problems without them: night, hopeless steppe, multi-voiced sough of the storm. No, it wasn’t a storm. It was djinns and witches, and shaggy devil threw themselves underfoot and stung eyes with needles. But I kept going, I was holding in the saddle all out. The mare still sank into the snow and was walking down the wind. I put down reins. Every child knows: if you got lost, just give free rein to your horse, it will find a way out.
I remembered Baden-apaj, took out qurut and put it into the mouth but suddenly sniffed and gave a jerk, I could barely hold in the saddle. It was wolfs!
Fortunately, it wasn’t. On the distance of several steps I saw a dark spot of well parapet. A huge sweep stuck out so that the top withdrew into the darkness. That meant that my mare found the way, but not the way home. There was not such well near my aul. Because the mare was walking firmly I understood that she found a path. And soon I smelled the smoke, smell of a habitation.
In our steppes, on the north, our winter dwellings are built according to the same pattern: spacy yard, fenced and covered, and at the back of the yard- stubby mud wattle-and-daub hut. If you want to get into the house, just walk alone the walk and you will find the door for sure.
Tided up the mare, I pushed the door and it opened with squeaks. And the voice asked me from the darkness:
- Who is this?
- Me.
- Me who?
I told him my name, but it didn’t give anything, so I told him the name of my father.
- Where did you come from?
- From my home.
- Why?
- For no special reason
- Who will hang around without any reason?
I didn’t find what to answer and he said with threat in the voice:
- Only dissipated thieves don’t sit at home in such night. I have to arrest you. Tide him up.
Seeing his moves and hearing his voice I understood that this man was young. From the left room sounded the voice of the old man:
- Asilhan! Who is there? Whoever it is, take him here. Wife, get up and bring the light.
They lighted up the guest room and Asilhan, probably the son, dabbed me in the back of the head, making me accept the invitation. He might be the age mate of our Kaysar. His moustache curved too and they were especially dark in the corners of the lips.
The host was a man in his fifty. He threw fur coat on his shoulders and stared at me , yawing. Of course Asilhan was his son. I can’t go wrong. The same chickbone, big nose, red face.
Near the wall, with their’s heads covered, were lying two bodies- probably kids. And near the broad wooden bad in opposite corner was standing a woman.
Back of my head still remembered Asilhan’s poke, but I greeted his father with all due respect.
- Yes, yes, hello.- he said.- So whose are you?
Having understood that my name is nothing, I said the name of my father without wasting my time.
The host repeated the questions word for word as he son did, and I repeated my answers word for word, because nothing else could come to my mind. But I was just a little boy and I didn’t learn how to lie to elders and when he asked who would throw around in such snowstorm night, my answer was straight:
- We wanted to steal one girl…
His fur coat sank down but he didn’t even notice that.
- What girl? Whose daughter?
- I didn’t see her. Dzhigits said that it is Bekbergen’s daughter.
I heard the constrained laugh under the cover and understood that there were two girls, and if it were girls – I shouldn’t wait for something good.
The old man continued to ask me like a bey9. I didn’t want to show my cards and our conversation was only question-answer, question-answer.
- And? Have you finally stolen her?
- I don’t know. I was watching after the horses.
- How did you get here?
- There was shooting. I think there was a rush. And I got lost
- He is lying.- frowned the son his eyebrows.- He is one of the real thieves, who wander in the night. We must give him to the village constable; village constable must deal with him.
I didn’t understand properly whether he was joking or not. But the hostess of the house with the face of Baden-apaj interfered.
She said:
- Do not be afraid, son, do not listen them… I haven’t seen anybody from your family for a long time. How is Dina? Safe and sound?
I relaxed. Everything would be fine, my mother’s name, sounded in this strange house, that seemed to be so hostile, persuaded me. And even the host’s moustaches shivered not with strict discontent, but with kind smile.
But it was too early for me to get relaxed. Under the cover sounded laugh that wasn’t hidden any more, and from two silhouetted bodies one small had poked out. Little mocker had two dark bunches that looked as if one had been dragged through a hedge backwards, like two goatling’s tails.
Another one- probably older and bigger- was still hiding, but at the place where she was lying the cover was shaking with laugh. What’s so funny? The little one threw me sneering look, put out her tongue and disappeared under the cover, as if she even wasn’t there.
The host, I guessed, understood that the night was disturbed long before a late winter light and his voice didn’t sound so severe when he said:
- Why the guest does not take off his clothes as if he came to the house where the laws of the hospitality don’t work? Let’s sit down and speak like men.- It was for me.- Heat the samovar and lets drink tea. – It was for wife.- And you also get up and take a seat, we need to settle down our guest. –It was for two girls under the cover who didn’t want to get out.
First got up of course impatient mocker. She jumped on as if she wasn’t sleeping while I was wandering around the steppe and somebody shot in wake.
And the second one, as I suggested, was a girl of marriageable age. She turned her back embarrassedly and took clothes on. Though I had turned too, managed to catch her dark face, dark abundant hair and thick plate, like four woolen ropes.
I unfastened my bridle leather belt. Candies in bright, like spring field, wrappers fell down on the floor. Round qurut ball rolled along.
Little mocker get wide-eyed, her eyes became round like the eyes of the Russian girl, which I met during my autumn visit of the Cossak village with my father. Little mocker pushed me off immediately.
- Campit! Campit!- She screamed and went on picking up my candies. – And what is this? Qurut? Sour…- She wrinkled up her nose, as if she never ate qurut, only sweets. I wished I had met her in the summer, at the lakeside, away from adult’s eyes. I would lace the place where a horse has it’s rump.
She run up to her sister and started to share candies:
- It for you and it’s for me, one for you and one for me.
- Wait, Camer… Calm down for a while.
Oh, so the name of this girl with the goatling’s bunches is Camer? But Camer, despite the will of her sister, didn’t think of calming down.
She fisted candies and picked up qurut with the other hand:
- Here, you can take this sour stuff.
As if somebody asked her what could I take and what could I leave. I pushed her hand, but however she thrust hard ball into my hand.
Then Camer left me alone. She had to make a bed. The eldest daughter managed to dress up smartly: otter hat with two wisps of eagle-owl feathers, a dress made of soft silk with a splendid double frill, over a dress- dark red, velvet waistcoat. She could be a heroine of the dastan10, like Kiz-Djibek or Bajan-Sulu, stories about them are sung or retold in every corner of the steppe.
Camer put out her tongue again. It looked like a snake’s tongue but not forked.
The host sat me beside him, gave me a soft cushion. And I had to retell what happened and why once again.
- Tell me, why did you decide to steal Bekbergen’s daughter?
He spoke with so that I could be honest.
- This Bekbergen- I said- turned out to be a bad person. He sent a courier to Kaysar and demanded a horse. But no one can find such horse! Quarter horse! It wins first places in all races! Any wolf can slip away from it. Is there any woman in the world to exchange our Kuren-tjobel for her?
The host nodded with agree and for some reason looked at the corner, where the wolfskin was hung.
- Yeaa- I said, having caught his look.- Kaysar has the pile of such skins at his house. He has even bigger.
I bragged a little, retelling about Kaysar’s hunting valour. But in the whole it was the truth.
- At Kaysar’s home? Is he a future Bekbergen son-in-law? Is this Kaysar a good dzhigit?
- He has no equal in our aul. He is said to have no equal in other auls too. – I said, what I really thought.
- So why does he offend his future father-in-low?
- He offends his father-in low? I heard with my own ears how he said to my father that if he gave him a horse he will go for a bride with his feet. Is it possible to take the bride by the hand to his house?
Then the samovar was brought in. The eldest girl took up pouring out tea and whitening it with milk. And this Camer, who put her long nose everywhere, was passing cups. From the very beginning the hostess passed me the teabowl with the golden border (not for the worst guest). Camer, giving me my bowl, stuck my elbow with her finger as sign of making-up.
The host made a sip from his teabowl, put it on the table and asked (how many questions he had!):
- So, in the world there is only one such dzhigit like Kaysar? He has no equal? So, he won’t go for his bride with his feet? He won’t give Kuren-tjobel to his father-in-low? I think he did the right thing. Right?- he waited for approval from his family.
- Aren’t you bored? Aren’t you bored riddling? – Grumbled his wife- enough. Tell him the truth.
Camer stared at me mockingly and barely spilled her tea. Lake side, lakeside in the summer and the whip would whistle in my hands!
The host waved with his hand, let his wife see that he was not going to follow her advice and went on:
- Yeaa. I can see by myself that our night guest didn’t understand anything. You must know that Bekbergen, as you called him, is my younger brother, son of my elder brother. Do you know who poured out your tea? No? Bekbergen’s daughter. Her name is very similar to my daughter’s name- Camen.
I stiffened. And now I wanted to hide under the cover so that nobody could see me.
The host wen on:
- If you want to do something- do not tell anybody. Two men know and it is not a secret any more. Bekbergen had found out that you were going to do and sent Camen to me, now you got it?
The hostess frowned:
- There is such gossip in the world that cannot keep anything, like a bad sack. Do you know Zagipa in your aul? It’s her work.
- I knew this all- spoke to me the host as to an adult.- When my brother demanded Kuren-tjobel, I swore at him. Doesn’t he understand? His own daughter will live with Kaysar! Why does he ruin the household of his son-in-low? But Bekbergen didn’t want to listen. He insisted that the guy is young and all his life is still forward, he will have an opportunity to get the horse not the worse than dark red.
The hostess interfered:
- There is no sense in his idle talks. Everything is because if greed! And second day I hear from you that you will send Camer with the first dzhigit from the Kaysar’s aul. What are you considering? Here is Camen, here is dzhigit! Let him take her.
I stiffened, how many times for one night. Such a girl on my skewbald horse? It is frisking as if it carrying 100 kilos. Its milt hiccups like main spindle of a wagon.
- Listen, Asilhan. – The host turned to his son. – Go and saddle a horse, two horses. Lead our guest and our Camendjan to Bane-apaj’s house. Don’t stay there for a long. Do not bother then today. I will arrange everything with Bekbergen. He is like storm. Makes a lot of noise first, but quiets down fast.
Camen was getting ready for a road.
I thought that for such guy like our Kaysar one had to smarten up. Upon the hat Camen threw a bright shawl. The hostess passed her a light fur coat of fox pawls, covered with red satin and not to get cold- chapan11, tied it up with a red belt for chapan not to sweep open.
It was time to say good bye. Camen didn’t burst into tears and wring hands as brides usually do.
She just said:
- Kadir-gaj! I have never thought that I would leave paternal shelter. And if you blessed me, it means I am not a runaway, not a rootless orphan. You are the elder brother of my father. I leave your house know, that is why your house is my own home now.
- Be happy… Yeaaa. Old people say that it is a sin to cry in the night, Kamenjan- said the host, but his voice also cracked.
The little mocker burst into tears. And when we all went out from the house, painfully stuck my back and shoulder with her fist. No, for such a mad girl I won’t give even a skewbald horse! One- Camen, the other- Camen. Such a similar names, but one of them is Kiz- Dzhibek and the second one must be whipped.
We were riding in such an order: Asilhan was first, then Camen and I was in the end so that Camen could not get lost. The wind became even stronger, but, fortunately, blew from the side. Horses of my companions were frisking in a leveled manner – that is called wolf gallop. My horse galloped confusingly, but could barely keep up with.
We didn’t ride a lot and Camen hold her horse.
- I see inshegim 12 that your horse is lazy. It doesn’t want us to get to your aul faster. Give me a lead rope and hurry it up with the whip.
Young women, having come in their husband aul, do not call boys by names. Not the done thing. They create a gentle nickname for each. Camen called me inshegim like a close, dear person. So now I was sort of a brother to Kaysar.
Near their house Asilhan and Camen said good bye to each other and Asilhan, as it was agreed. Took her horse and went back home.
Kaysar wasn’t sleeping, because he responded immediately after my knocking t the window. I said my name.
- Oh, pupsters, safe and sound thank Allah? Do not run up to us, run to your home. Or else your parents will make funeral feast in your honor.
- Okay!-I said angrily- Open the gates first!
In the darkness he didn’t have it that I was not alone. He went forward and Camen followed me.
In the house Baden-apaj lighted the lamp:
- You came, dear! – she said to me.- Kaysar came home to warm up a little and then was going to went on looking for you. And you, my dear, found the aul by yourself.
Baden-apaj continued bothering and kissing me but suddenly he saw my companion who was standing quietly in doors.
- Camen? How did you get here! My little colt! My dear!
Thanks god she left me alone and were holding Camen. They smiled, crying. Cried, smiling. Kaysar stiffened first and then asked me:
- You?
- Me.
- Attaboy!
He could not say anything more. Pushed me, dabbed me like that girl whose name was almost like Camen. He became absolutely stupid.
Baden-apaj looked at her son.
- Now you own him Kuren-tjobel.
- How did you manage to do this? How?
He didn’t speak to the bride from confusion. She peered at Kaysar playfully.
- How did he manage? It was you who rushed in the steppe as soon as you heard the shooting. But he didn’t get afraid. He saw me running home from our neighbors. He asked: “Are you Camen? Come here” What should I do? And he brought me here.
- -Yes, the horse is yours. – agreed Kaysar and drew my hat over the nose.
And when I was treated with tea, I was a new owner of the dark red quarter horse, the proud of our aul! But how could it be that Kaysar was without Kuren-tjobel and Kuren-tjobel without Kaysar? It was really hard to imagine that, because they fit each other perfectly. But if Kuren-tjobel happened to be my father’s horse he would drew a hat on his forehead and go around the aul to show off.
While my thinking, Kaysar asked me:
- Insheg.. Won’t you sell me a horse?
Camen winked at me:
- Inshegim!Don’t agree!
But Kaysar- anyhow it was Kaysar..
- I will!
- And what do you want for dark red?
- A bay with yellowish markings, two-year-old. You will give it to me in summer.
I had to go home. My parents must have been in a twit. Camen kissed me at parting. And Baden-apaj gave me a fullhand of sweets in bright wrappers.
And only Kaysar hold my hand as equal, as dzhigit.
He gave us a bay with yellowish markings in summer, as it was agreed.
But I managed to ride it one single time, when I was brining it home.
Then only my father rid it.
1. Kuren-tjobel- dark red, about the paint of horses.
2. Mullah- is generally used to refer to a Muslim man, educated in Islamic theology and sacred law.
3. Aul- mountain village
4. Aqsaqal- a patriarch, the most respectable man among Turkic nations.
5. Dzhigit- horseman, hothead
6. Yurt- is a portable, bent dwelling structure traditionally used by nomads in the steppes of Central Asia
7. Campit-sampit- sweets.
8. Qurut- is a type of cheese eaten throughout Central Asia, often as a snack.
9. Bey- is a title for chieftain, traditionally applied to the leaders of small tribal groups.
10. Dastan- is an ornate form of oral history from Central Asia
11. Chapan- is a coat worn over clothes, usually during the cold winter months.
12. Inshegim- a little brother.
